Something To Sleep To
by tresbellemichelle
Summary: What started as a volunteer gig at Lima Memorial is slowly turning into a fairy tale for Kurt Hummel. Except Kurt is pretty doubtful that a kiss is going to wake his Prince Charming from his coma.  AU
1. One

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Glee or the character's it contains; they are property of Fox and RIB.

**Author Notes:** This is semi-AU starting from the Madonna episode of season 1. This is going to be the first story I try to update on a regular basis (as in, every week or every other week) so hopefully I can keep up with that. Title from a Michelle Branch song. 3 I originally posted this elsewhere (livejournal, etc.) about two weeks ago, and plan to post shorter chapters more frequently rather than huge chapters every like... Month. Okay? Okay. Enjoy!

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><p>"And this is Blaine."<p>

Kurt's eyes rove over the prone body snug beneath the stark hospital sheets, shuffling his weight from foot to foot as he stands beside the nurse. Blaine's young, which is not something Kurt had expected and it certainly unnerves him. He's _too_ young, because he can't be much older than Kurt himself (if he's older at all) and he shouldn't be in a coma. But that doesn't stop the fact that he is.

He's dressed in pajamas, or so Kurt can assume from the very soft-looking heather grey t-shirt Blaine is wearing, but he's also covered in bandages and bruises. His face is handsome, Kurt can tell, despite the fact that it's a mottled rainbow of colors around his eyes and nose and that his head is wrapped up pretty thoroughly. If Kurt didn't see his side burns, Blaine might as well have been bald.

"He's only been open for visitors for about a day or two, but you're the first volunteer to come see him." That's all the nurse says before she smiles at him and leaves the room and Kurt is left with a comatose stranger.

The hospital wasn't his first choice as far as places-to-volunteer go. It's a little early to start his college-application-volunteering; Kurt is only a sophomore and he certainly has time. But schools like McKinley don't exactly have a lot of reputation and he needs every last bit of leverage to get himself out of Ohio and to New York. It would be nice if there was a way to do volunteer work without exposing himself to something unpleasant, but he did choose entertaining hospital patients to old people.

Kurt just hadn't expected his first assignment to be a young guy in a coma.

Glancing around, he pulls up a chair, careful to maneuver it around any wires—it would be just his luck to kill the poor guy while trying to keep him company. The thing is, Kurt doesn't really know if Blaine's aware he's there. He's never dealt with a person in a coma before so how is he supposed to know what to do?

"They say that people in comas know what's going on around them." It seems like a good place to start. He's sure that Blaine doesn't know much about comas, either, even if he _is_ in one. "So, um, I'm Kurt. I volunteer here at the hospital. And I figure it's nicer to listen to someone talk rather than some beeping monitors." Was that in poor taste? Maybe Blaine _likes_ being able to hear that he is still alive. Kurt's eyes flicker to the machine, but it just keeps beeping as if he's not even there at all.

"I, um, didn't really expect this. I mean, if I'd known I would have brought a book or something to read. A magazine, maybe—I could keep you up to date on all the latest fashion and gossip." Kurt grins, but it slips off his face, and he taps a finger against the railing on the bed. It reminds him of those beds toddlers sleep in as they transition from cribs to real beds and frowns slightly, assessing Blaine. His injuries jump out against his olive skin and Kurt wonders briefly what exactly is wrong with him and how it happened.

It's patient privacy, he knows, that keeps him from getting this information. After all, the volunteers are there to bring smiles and laughter, not to nose about in people's business. But Kurt doubts Blaine will smile at him any time soon.

"You know, I never realized how hard it was to have a conversation with myself until I tried it. Who knew, right? So, um, I guess I'll tell you about my day?" Kurt chews his lip for a moment before scooting the chair a bit closer and crossing his legs. "I go to McKinley High. I doubt you go there, because I'm sure I would have seen you. Or you would have seen me. It's not a very diverse school, I'm afraid. I'm a sophomore—you look around that age, too, so you'll probably appreciate my mundane high school life and all the drama that accompanies it." The longer Kurt talks, the easier he finds the words, and he leans forward a bit as he continues. "At least, you can sympathize with it.

"Anyways, so I'm in my school's Glee club—New Directions. Our assignment this week is Madonna…"

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><p>"I'm home!"<p>

Crouching in the small tiled rectangle that serves as their entryway, Kurt begins working at unlacing his boots. A shadow falls across him and he glances up to see his father standing in the opening to the living room, holding what appears to be a microwave dinner (and Kurt knows that, if it appears to be, it most certainly _is_.)

"Hey kiddo. How was the hospital?" Burt Hummel looks down at his son over his food, prodding at something in the cardboard with his fork so that it's easy to see the steam streaking off of it.

"Fine." Kurt shrugs dismissively, standing as his boots come completely off. He picks them up and then looks at his dad's dinner choice with a frown of disapproval and a raised eyebrow. "What is _that_?"

"Dinner." His dad shrugs with one shoulder and turns back towards the living room, where Kurt can hear the distinct sound of some sport or another coming from the TV. He rolls his eyes, knowing full well that his dad is using football or baseball or whatever as a deterrent against Kurt's disapproval, so he heads towards the kitchen to fix himself something healthy and start on his homework.

His visit at the hospital _had _been fine. He'd only stayed with Blaine for about an hour before a nurse had come in to turn him. The whole situation had been awkward enough that Kurt had excused himself and spent his other hour in the pediatrics ward watching cartoons with a little girl who had broken her leg.

As strange as it had been at first, Kurt realized that he'd actually enjoyed his time spent with Blaine. Which was strange, in and of itself, because Blaine hadn't done much of anything. But Kurt has to admit to himself that it was nice having someone just listen to him talk. He supposes if he ever went to a therapist for some reason it would feel much the same, except therapists generally had something to say. Blaine, really, is just a very good listener.

Grinning to himself, Kurt pulls his geometry homework from his bag as he waits for water to boil. Maybe he'll visit Blaine again.

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><p>"So how often are you doing this hospital gig? It's not gonna interfere with Glee, is it?" Closing his locker, Kurt turns towards Mercedes and rolls his eyes affectionately.<p>

"If you mean will it interfere with our super fabulous, top secret Madonna project, then no, it will not. I'm only going twice a week." Leaning against the locker wall, he taps his fingers against his Spanish book in thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Not that it will be hard to stand out in Ohio. I doubt many of the apes at this school even know what volunteer work _is_."

He links their arms together, beginning to make their way down the hall, eyes shooting around to check for red and white or outstretched slushie cups.

"Kurt, you stand out _anywhere_." He preens at her compliment and she hugs his arm closer. "You enjoying it?" He raises one of his shoulders in a half shrug.

"I've only been the one time, and I spent the whole time talking to Blaine—"

"Blaine? A _boy?_" Her eyes widen as her lips tip up in an excited smile. "A _cute_ boy?"

Kurt scoffs. "Well, considering he was covered in bruises, bandages, plaster, and is _in a coma_, I wasn't exactly checking him out." Well, not really, but it was difficult to talk to someone for an hour and not _look_ at them. And appreciate the curve and length of someone's eyelashes and the definition of their arms. "Besides," he continues, negotiating them past an "enthusiastic" couple. "I'm interested in someone," he sniffs, eyes darting to the side just in time to catch sight of that _someone_. Mercedes follows his gaze and sighs.

"Boy, you need to give that _up_." His attention snaps back to Mercedes in a glare and he lifts his chin.

"You don't give up a battle that's hardly been started, darling."


	2. Two

**Author's Note: **I just posted this story on yesterday, and I certainly didn't write and polish a chapter in a day. So. Don't expect updates this fast. I'm trying for at least every other week, but I'm writing shorter chapters so maybe I'll get them out faster.

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><p>Kurt doesn't go back to the hospital on Thursday like he's supposed to. After all, he's a <em>Cheerio<em> now and he has much more important things to do. Like attend practices. On top of that and Glee, he wonders how he'll have time for volunteering. But cutting it down to once a week won't really hurt him, especially since he's picked up another extracurricular activity. After all, he'd much rather spend time around a hoard of prissy cheerleaders than the infirm (and _that's_ saying something).

When he comes back the next Tuesday, there's no helpful nurse to guide him to patients. Kurt spends a few moments standing awkwardly in front of the nurse's station before he begins wandering towards the children's ward. The little girl from last week hadn't seemed to hate him, and had actually laughed when he'd done commentary on the cartoons they'd been watching.

A part of him debates going to see Blaine, but he decides against it. After all, his time is more well spent with someone who knows he's actually there, right?

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><p>As it turns out, little girls are far more interested in watching iCarly than listening to how Kurt gave Coach Sylvester a make-over. The girl, Amanda, also isn't interested in how Kurt is a Cheerio now or how him and Mercedes had destroyed their solos at the pep rally. So he spends a good half an hour dissecting a teeny bopper love triangle that he may or may not be making up, but Amanda seems to be eating it up all the same.<p>

Either way, he excuses himself at the promise of more Miranda Cosgrove and makes his way quickly from the pediatrics ward.

He ends up at Blaine's door without even realizing it and finds himself peaking inside. After all, if there's someone in there with him it would be rude to just walk in. But the room is empty and quiet, just the sound of machinery, and the emptiness of it pulls at Kurt's heart uncomfortably.

Blaine might be in a coma, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve _somebody_. Kurt knows what it's like to feel alone even when he's surrounded by a crowd of people. What must it be like for Blaine, who can't even express any loneliness he feels?

"Are you lonely?" Kurt finds himself asking as he moves the chair back to Blaine's bedside. He sits for a few moments, just watching Blaine with sad eyes, catching the slight rise and fall of his chest. Then he laughs slightly, realizing how ridiculous he is, and how crazy he must seem to be laughing in a room with a coma patient. He glances over his shoulder, as if to look for any nurses judging him, but no one's there.

"You don't think I'm crazy, do you?" Kurt asks him quietly as he turns back to Blaine. It's not as if he expects an answer—after all, this isn't a movie and things like that simply don't happen. And, much to his expectations, Blaine doesn't do so much as flinch and Kurt can't help but smile. "I'll take your silence as a yes."

Kurt settles further into the chair, listening to the blip of the machines for a minute.

"I went to see Amanda—she's a nine year old who broke her leg in two places in gymnastics. But she isn't quite the conversationalist you are. That, and I can only stomach so much preteen entertainment." Kurt shudders and imagines that maybe Blaine would smile at that. Not a lot of people get Kurt's sense of humor, but Blaine seems like the type of person who would. Maybe. Kurt can hope, after all.

"To be honest, this feels sort of strange to me." Kurt doesn't know where the words come from, but it feels _wrong_ to make things up to Blaine. After all, he's had so much wrong done to him (or so Kurt can assume) and it's not like Blaine is going to turn a judging eye on him. He could argue, though, that Blaine doesn't care if he's honest, either. But at least being honest doesn't tend to carry guilt.

"I mean, I feel like one of those people that surround themselves with pets and then use them to replace their social life. I mean, I _have_ a social life, I have friends. I told you about them. And you're, you're not like… A dog or cat or something, you're a person." Kurt stops, taking a breath and sighing. "Wow, I'm usually good about not letting my mouth run away with me." He had to be. It was a part of being Kurt Hummel, after all. Cool, collected, smarter than everybody else—if he had verbal vomit it would certainly blow that.

But Blaine doesn't know Kurt Hummel, the resident gay of McKinley High. He just knows Kurt, the hospital volunteer. Well, if he knows Kurt _at all_.

"I wonder what kind of person you are," Kurt murmurs softly, once he's collected himself. "I used to pride myself on judging people based on their appearance, but I never realized how much of that relied on body language." And breathing isn't anything to go off of; all it tells Kurt is that Blaine is alive, which is good, but alive really isn't a personality trait.

"You have ridiculous eyebrows," he concludes after a moment of inspection. "And you really need to shave. You weren't nearly this scruffy when I saw you last Tuesday." Kurt can't help but be slightly jealous; he hasn't hit the point in puberty yet where he can grow facial hair, not that he has any desire to have a mustache or something ridiculous. But it would be nice to have the _option_.

He wonders, just for a moment, if anyone comes in to look after Blaine. Does Blaine like being scruffy? Does he like wearing the same grey t-shirt all the time? (And, _ew_, what if he's been wearing it since last _week?_) Kurt wonders if he should leave guidelines somewhere, incase he's ever in a coma and someone needs to be told to change his clothing at least every other day (because, seriously, _gross_). But it seems strange to even consider doing something like that, and so he pushes the thought promptly from his mind almost as quickly as it entered.

"You'd look good in bolder colors. The grey is nice, of course, but with your skin tone—I have to admit, I'm jealous. If I wear too much white or black, I end up looking like some cheap attempt at a Halloween costume." Not that it deters him entirely, but Kurt has found the way to balance the monochromatic without looking like he just stepped out of a silent film.

He imagines Blaine in all sorts of colors. Maroon, indigo, emerald, even a buttery yellow. His nose scrunches. Maybe _not_ yellow.

"You have to have more clothes, right?" Kurt's eyes scan the room but he doubts they'd just leave Blaine's personal belongings sitting around a hospital room. He huffs slightly, as if this completely puts a roadblock in his plans, and looks back at Blaine.

"I hate hospitals," Kurt says without preamble. He does though, and has, ever since his mom passed away. There had been a hospital then, too, and she had looked so bland in a hospital room with the starkness of it all. A part of him hates it, hates that Blaine has to look so lifeless and small in his grey t-shirt and white sheets. This room saps the life out of him, makes him a part of it. Blaine has become less of a person and simply another part of the décor.

Something shifts in Kurt. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but he does find himself squirming in his chair. Suddenly, as if he just noticed that even in his red and white Cheerios uniform, he's the brightest thing in this room. Kurt Hummel is used to being a head turner, but there are no heads to turn here. There is no one to look. He is an anomaly in a too-grey, too-quiet hospital room.

This is where a decision is made. Kurt knows he can get up and leave. He can leave Blaine, he can leave the hospital, and he can forget the few hours he's spent there. He'll no longer be an outsider in yet another place and his life will tip back on kilter, back to normal.

Kurt looks at Blaine. Looks at the way his chest rises and falls so very subtly, just a quiet hint of life. Blaine is breathing, even if Kurt can't hear the way the air shifts and slips. He looks closer at the lines of Blaine's face. He's young, but there's a slight crinkle around his eyes that Kurt would scold anyone else for. Laugh lines, the sort of marks on skin that show an enjoyment for life and for smiling. Kurt will never have them, but Blaine already does.

He settles into his chair, crossing his legs, and the decision is made. This isn't a place for him, but it isn't a place for Blaine, either. Kurt picks up his hand, carefully, surprised by how warm and alive it is as he sandwiches it between his own palms and looks at Blaine with slow, careful glances.

"You really _do_ need to shave."


	3. Three

**Author's Note: **This is an anomaly. I don't know why I got this chapter done so fast! I have the next few chapters planned out at least, and I do know exactly where the story is going. I'm sorry, this chapter is kind of mean, but. Had to happen. (:

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><p>Surprisingly, Kurt finds Blaine's hospital room a rather fitting place to do his homework. He's never been the sort to have trouble doing it, but it certainly helps to erase all possible distractions. He doesn't have the temptation to start cooking dinner early or to take an hour break to arrange his outfit for the next day. Even the beeping of the machine has become a steady lull in the background, a tempo that grounds him without diverting his attention.<p>

"You know, there are definitely important reasons for taking Spanish, but that doesn't mean I enjoy doing the work for it," Kurt groans, letting his pen dip into the crevice of the book and turning to look at Blaine. There hasn't been a change since earlier, except Kurt may have set a few things on the open spaces on the bed. No nurse has come to yell at him yet, so he figures it's okay (maybe).

"My French classes are much more interesting. Ducks take to water like Kurt Hummel takes to French." He grins, tilting his chin up as if proud of his reversal. He cocks his head to the side, looking at Blaine. "Come on, you know that was funny."

Blaine groans.

Kurt sits up suddenly, his Spanish book slipping from his lap and thudding to the ground. He knows the pages will crease, but that's the least of his concerns. For a few long moments, he just stares at Blaine. That—no, that must have been one of the machines or something. There's no way Blaine just groaned. Blaine _doesn't_ groan. He doesn't move or flutter his eyes or _make noises_.

"Blai—"

Another groan and Kurt is standing up, quickly pushing all of his stuff off the bed and nearly tripping over himself. Blaine is groaning! Groaning! Kurt stands there, fingers and hands twitching as if he has no idea what he's supposed to do. Because Blaine is groaning. People in comas don't groan, do they? Maybe Kurt should have done research on people in comas but—no, that's ridiculous. He didn't know he'd be seeing Blaine ever again and volunteers aren't supposed to have medical knowledge, right? They'd just let him sign up! He doesn't even know CPR!

Okay, no, he needs to calm down. Because Blaine is waking up. Blaine is waking up! No, that's really not helping him calm down. Kurt suddenly wishes he was wearing something other than his Cheerios uniform, because, really, what kind of impression does that give? '_I think he'll be more surprised at the random guy in his hospital room!_' Right. Because even if Kurt sort of knows Blaine, Blaine does _not_ know him. Unless he's really been asleep this whole time and is just a wonderful actor.

Because normal people totally pretend to be in comas.

His feet are moving before he realizes it, but Kurt comes to himself before he does something horrific like knock over the chair or unplug vital machinery. He's at the doorway in a matter of moments, grabbing the first person in those disgusting hospital scrubs that he sees.

"E-excuse me, it's—he—" Kurt's eyes must be doing a much better job than he is at explaining the situation, because the nurse takes one look at him before quickly turning on her heel and rushing past him into the room. They only lock eyes for a few moments, but something about her seems familiar and kind. Is it the same nurse from last week? Kurt can't even remember that one's name.

"Would you mind telling me what happened?" Her voice isn't demanding or even annoyed, and she looks at Kurt briefly with patient understanding before bustling around machines. Kurt stands there, wringing his fingers and hands and wishing he wasn't so ostentatious for once so he could blend in with the hospital walls.

"I… I was just talking to him, and then. He groaned! He groaned twice! And coma patients don't groan, they—" He stops when he notices the nurse is just looking at him now, but her face isn't horrified or happy. She wears a tight, small smile, but it's not a happy one. If anything, she looks vaguely sad.

She turns towards Blaine, adjusting the sheets that don't need adjusting and then brushing her fingers against his face. Kurt's breath catches in his throat at the gesture and he isn't quite sure why, his eyes following the movements.

"Your bruises are starting to look better, sweetheart," she says quietly before she stands up again, looking over at Kurt. She doesn't say anything about the mess of school supplies he'd pushed onto the ground, but moves back towards him after shooting one last look at Blaine.

"Isn't he—" Kurt doesn't finish his sentence as the same sad smile graces the nurse's face. _Isn't he going to wake up?_ Kurt wants to ask, his eyes darting nervously to look at Blaine. Isn't he supposed to turn his head and open his eyes and… And smile or something? That's what's supposed to happen.

"No, I'm afraid not," she says with a shake of her head.

"But he… He groaned." Kurt's voice weakens as he speaks, and he realizes as soon as he says it that it doesn't matter.

"How much do you know about comas, sweetie?" The nurse smiles gently. She isn't mocking him and seems genuinely curious, but Kurt is suddenly berating himself for not knowing anything. When he doesn't answer, the nurse presses a hand between his shoulder blades and guides him out into the hall. She nearly closes the door, leaving it open enough that Kurt can still see a sliver of Blaine's face. When she does speak, her voice is hushed.

"People think comas are just people sleeping, and in a lot of ways that's true. Except that there's no way to wake him up. You could slap him across the face—please don't, though, I shouldn't have even said that—and he still wouldn't wake up." Kurt hadn't considered trying to wake Blaine up, but now he definitely has no plans to.

"People in comas have been known to make noises, shift, even open their eyes. It's a good sign, it means he isn't in too deeply." The nurse wears the same small smile again, the one that doesn't reach her eyes. '_She's worried._' Just the thought of it makes Kurt's chest constrict uncomfortably.

The nurse is looking at him again, a bit more curiously, and Kurt remembers, again, what he's wearing. '_Seriously, change next time._'

"You go to McKinley?" It's the last possible question he expected, and Kurt blinks dumbly at her for a moment before nodding. Vaguely, he debates making a snappy comment ("_no, I just like wearing random high school cheerleading uniforms_") but something stops him. Maybe it's the way the nurse had explained what happened to Blaine, or how she had showed Blaine such affection. He isn't quite sure.

"I thought you looked familiar. My son goes there." Dread curls uncomfortably in his stomach as he tries to imagine who her son could be. Is he a football player? Someone who torments Kurt on a regular basis? Will he have to act pleasant about someone who doesn't even see him as a living, breathing human being?

"Does he?" Kurt's voice betrays him, coming out higher than it had moments before, but she doesn't seem to notice (at least, she doesn't react to the change).

"Yes, he's on the football team." The dread solidifies. "You were on the football team, weren't you?" Kurt nods stiffly, but she doesn't seem satisfied with that alone. "No, that's—You're in Glee club, aren't you?" Her eyes light up in a way that Kurt doesn't understand.

How would she—

"Do you know Finn?"

Kurt is almost positive he stops breathing. He manages to nod somehow, and she grins.

"Carole Hudson. I'm Finn's mother." Kurt is pretty sure he's gaping as Carole holds out her hand, but he grabs it and shakes it the way he was taught. His dad always told him that you could learn a lot about a person depending on their handshake. Kurt just hopes his is as firm as he'd practiced it and isn't like loose spaghetti (because that's certainly what he feels like right now).

"Are you going to the parent teacher night tonight?" The question whooshes out of him as his brain begins to turn. He's planning before she even registers the question.

"I was actually on my way out when you stopped me." She smiles at him and Kurt swiftly falls from panicked hospital volunteer to the nicest, politest teenage boy Carole Hudson could ever meet.

"I'm supposed to go with my dad. He was going to come and get me here, but, as you know, it's a little out of the way." He pauses and she smiles, nodding as if she understands and sympathizes. "Do you think maybe you could give me a ride?"

Carole seems surprised by the question, her eyes sweeping over Kurt curiously before she smiles. "I don't see why not. How sweet of you. Finn would never come to one of these things." Kurt figured as much, but tonight isn't about Finn (well, not completely), it's about Carole… And his dad.

"I just need to go and change. You call your dad, okay?" Kurt just smiles and nods as Carole whisks away and he tries not to do a victory dance. Slipping back into the room, he begins shoving things into his bag while shooting a text message to his dad (his dad doesn't really text, but he can read them just fine). He frets for a minute about having to go in his _Cheerios uniform_, but he'll have to deal.

He looks at Blaine excitedly while he slings his bag across his body and beams. "Finn Hudson's _mom_," he mouths, afraid she might sneak up on him at any moment. It's silent for a moment and then he laughs, realizing Blaine can't exactly read lips right now.

"I have to go, but. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow." _Tomorrow_. Kurt smiles and then nods, backing towards the door.

"Yes. Definitely tomorrow."


	4. Four

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay. It was my birthday and I was traveling so it took me awhile to finish this one. Also, due to poor research on my part, this story is a lot more AU than I originally intended. Let's just say I forgot that Burt and Carole supposedly met a whole month before the Home episode, so. You guys can forget that, too, because it is not true in this story! They just met. Obviously.

Hopefully I'll have another chapter for you guys soon, and thanks to everyone who leaves me comments and reviews! They honestly make me so happy I want to cry. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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><p>"I don't even <em>know<em> what she was wearing, but it's certainly something I need to address. My dad seemed to _like_ the whole acid wash combination—"

"Kurt."

"And her hair. Mercedes, you would not believe—"

"Did you really say—"

"—her hair. I understand she had just been working, but it was honestly no excuse. If she—"

"—that thing about dead spouses?"

"—got the proper hair cut, it would function appropriately at work and in social settings. I've already been perusing ideas—"

"I think you're taking this a bit—"

"Do you think it would be weird if I took her shopping? No, of course not. Mrs. Hudson already loves me, I can tell. I just need to—"

"—far? Kurt?"

"—find a time that won't interfere. Obviously I'll be making the hospital a more constant occurrence, and on top of Glee and Cheerios and homework, I don't want her to think I just have this abundance of free time. Do I? She doesn't seem like the sort of—"

"**Kurt**."

Kurt pauses mid stretch, turning to look at Mercedes with pursed lips at being interrupted. They stare at one another for a few moments before they return to their stretching. Well, mostly Kurt, as Mercedes continues to do some sort of attempt at a butterfly. He knows not everyone is as flexible as him (it's a gift, really) and he isn't about to hold those standards up to his best friend, Cheerio or not.

"Don't you think you're taking this too far? This whole Finn thing?"

Kurt turns to glare at her and she holds her hands up, as if in surrender, but her face is serious.

"I'm just saying, Kurt. You're dragging your dad into this now, and his mom."

"It's not like they _hate_ each other, Mercedes. They were _flirting_. I did them a _favor_."

"Really?" Mercedes sounds skeptical and Kurt doesn't even deem to look at her.

"_Really_. You know, they will date, get to know one another, I'll continue volunteering at the hospital, Mrs. Hudson will fall in love with me, and then Finn will." Mercedes is still looking at him, staring at his back.

"_Kurt._"

"Don't." Kurt knows that voice. Has heard it so many times. Mercedes is his best friend and he doesn't need to hear it from her, too, even if he still does. They don't understand. None of them do. Mercedes might not have a boyfriend now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have the _option_. She has options. Kurt doesn't.

"I'm going to do this, Mercedes. And as my best friend, it would be nice to have your support." She doesn't respond and the quiet begins stretching between them. Coach Sylvester's whistle cuts through it fiercely, and there she is, striding onto the field and ready to start practice.

Mercedes appears at his arm, looping them together and smiling at him softly and unsurely. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

><p>Wednesday wasn't part of the original plan, but Kurt has a new plan now. A new plan that requires visiting the hospital as often as physically possible.<p>

He shows up, showered and dressed in something other than his uniform, and holding a bright bouquet of wildflowers. Blaine seems like a wildflowers sort of person, even if it had been a completely last minute idea.

He's stopped by a nurse as he signs in, and she eyes the flowers warily.

"I'm going to have to take those from you." Her voice grits against his ears unpleasantly and he finds himself hugging the bouquet closer to his chest.

"Why?" He asks, affronted.

"Hospital policy. We ask that visitors do not bring flowers or anything that produces allergens, along with anything that could pose a potential threat to patients." _Oh_. Kurt looks sadly at the bouquet, not because he spent almost twenty dollars on it but because he'd wanted to bring something for Blaine.

"They're _just_ flowers," Kurt insists, still holding them close to his chest. The nurse just continues to stare at him, her expression not amused and not inching. "He's in a _coma_, it's not as if he's going to prick his fingers on some nonexistent thorns or something." Kurt realizes that his voice is increasing in volume and that a few people walking past are looking at him.

"Sir." The nurse's voice has hardened as she glares at him. "If you do not hand over the flowers, I will have you escorted from the facility."

Staring at her, Kurt frowns in obvious distaste. What kind of bad day does a person have to have to kick someone out of a hospital over _flowers?_ She has to be kidding. But she doesn't seem to be bluffing, and he sees her hand hovering just under the desk. Is that where the security button is?

Giving her the nastiest glare he can manage, Kurt hands the flowers over wordlessly and stalks away. _Bitch._

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><p>"How are you this afternoon, Blaine?" Kurt sweeps into the room, moving his chair and settling into it. He sets his bag down, contemplating if he'll do his homework here or at home. If Kurt hadn't been doing this whole visiting-Blaine-thing for a few days now, it would have felt strange to fall so easily into a routine. Well, stranger, but he's pretty sure he's getting used to it.<p>

"I dressed up today. Well, I'm not in my uniform. You'd like this sweater, I think. Alexander McQueen." Kurt preens slightly as he crosses his legs. In his mind, Blaine appreciates things like fashion and designer labels. "I'll be sure to show you the best places to bargain hunt, and eBay is a _godsend_. Not literally, but… We don't need to get into _that_."

He vaguely wonders if Blaine believes in the whole _god_ thing or not. Does it help to believe in something when you're in a coma? Kurt really doesn't know and hopes he never does. But it probably helps not to talk about his atheism right at that moment.

"Oh, yesterday! I said I'd tell you, didn't I? That's why I'm here." Kurt pauses, inching his chair even closer and then smiling slightly. "And to see you, of course." Kurt has other people to talk to, that's not all Blaine is. He doesn't want Blaine to think that he's just there for Kurt to unload on. He _isn't_. They're friends… In a really weird sort of way that Kurt can't exactly explain.

"So, um, your nurse is Finn's mom. Finn, as you will soon become aware of, is this boy I go to school with and he's just…" Kurt pauses, looking into the space above Blaine's body as if it provides him with some sort of inspiration or answer. "He doesn't treat me the way the other guys at school do, you know? He's _nice_ to me." Kurt's fingers fiddle together as if they can't possibly settle. This is what love feels like, right? This fluttery, unnerving feeling? It _must_ be.

"I introduced his mom to my dad last night." This time he does pause, glancing over his shoulder at the open door to make sure there aren't any eavesdropping nurses. Especially ones that his dad was making moon eyes at the night before.

"It's genius, isn't it?" His voice becomes hushed anyways and he leans closer. It's the closest he's ever been to Blaine and when he breathes he can smell him. Not like he's doing it intentionally, he's pretty sure smelling coma patients is _not_ something he's into; he simply can't help it. And Blaine smells _good_. It's not the generic scent of hospital soap he'd been expecting, but something spicy like cinnamon. It's warm somehow and it reminds Kurt of hot chocolate and Christmas.

But it's what's underneath all the smell of a particularly good body wash (and did they bathe him with a personal one? Oh dear god, they _bathed_ him, _naked_, and Kurt needs to stop thinking about that _right now_, what is _wrong_ with him?) that makes Kurt linger a little longer than necessary. He knows the smell, has smelt it hundreds of times through his life, but it still almost makes his eyes close in complete contentment.

Kurt has smelled boys before. Not in a creepy sense, but he's taken gym and been averting his eyes since he was twelve. Not all boys smelt good and he'd spent plenty of time making sure he didn't smell like boy in a _bad_ way. Blaine didn't smell like boy in a bad way, not at all. In fact, Kurt can feel himself being drawn in closer, feeling the urge to—

A cart squeals by loudly in the hall and Kurt snaps back, his spine colliding with the chair almost painfully. He glances around, suddenly nervous, as if someone is about to come in and reprimand him for—What? What _exactly_ had he been doing?

"I." His mouth feels dry as he turns back to Blaine and his tongue runs along his lower lip, as if that will bring back his use of words. It doesn't do much of anything except remind him that he has lips and _why is that such a bad thought process right now?_

"What was I talking about?" As if Blaine will tell him or help him remember. If only.

"Oh, right, um. My dad and Mrs. Hudson and Finn…" The name feels slightly heavy on his tongue, as if a sudden contrast to the airy way he'd just been feeling moments before. He brushes the thought away.

"But it's genius, isn't it?" Kurt doesn't lean in but continues to lower his voice, his excitement building and smoothing over any remnant of discomfort he'd been feeling. "My dad and his mom date, get closer, and it's a _reason_ for Finn and I to be closer. We could _live_ together." Kurt places a hand over his heart, smiling more than he ever allows himself as he pictures it.

Surely, _surely_, once Finn sees how remarkable Kurt is outside of the oppressive walls of McKinley he'll understand. He'll see how perfect they are for each other. And then no one will touch him, touch them, because Finn _has_ everything. Surely he wants to share it with Kurt.

"Finn will realize he's in love with me. I mean, we don't interact enough at school for such an epiphany to come to him, but it _will_. Then… I'll have someone to hold hands with. To kiss." Kurt reaches dreamily up to touch his lips, his eyes and mind distant and elsewhere, focusing on a place where he is loved and listened to by someone other than his father.

"Mercedes—my best friend, I told you about her—she. She doesn't _get_ it. No one _gets _it. They don't understand what it's like for me, at that school, in this _state_. There's…" Kurt just shakes his head, falling off mid sentence.

"I didn't really have anyone before Glee club, not _really_. When you're a pretty reliable target for bullying, people… They don't… They don't want to _sacrifice_ their own dignity to be friends with someone. Which is fine, of course. I know how to be on my own, and I…" Kurt stops again, staring at Blaine and the smooth skin of his neck as it disappears into that _stupid_ grey t-shirt.

"I _hate_ it." It slips out quiet and broken, swallowed by the silence of the hospital room and only words to Kurt and Blaine. "Ever since my mom died, I've just been… Alone. All the time. And my dad tries, he does, and he's gotten so much better since I came out. I _love_ my dad, but it's not the same. I can't… I can't tell him what happens at school, what they _do _to me. It's hard for him, I know it is, I know what people _say_ to him."

Kurt's voice catches, much to his surprise, and he slaps his hand over his mouth in alarm. He doesn't—Kurt Hummel _does not cry_ if he can help it. He does not show weakness because that's how they'll get him one day. They'll see the crack and they'll go at it, again and again, until he shatters. Shatters like porcelain, just as Coach Sylvester's nickname dictates.

"Finn could be that person," he begins again, once his voice is under control. "He… Well, he never directly threw me into any dumpsters or slushied me. And he always let me set my bag and jacket down before, so they didn't get destroyed. Sometimes when I was locker checked, he'd say something—I mean, after, because he wouldn't know it was coming. He… He smiles at me sometimes." Kurt feels himself flush and ducks his head. Because Finn _smiles_ at him.

Blaine groans, snapping Kurt from his reverie and making him jump just a little. He doesn't overturn the chair this time, or run from the room, but watches Blaine and the slightest twitch of his neck as he groans for a second time. He listens this time, can tell Blaine has a deep voice—at least, deeper than _his_ but that isn't saying very much. He wonders, briefly, what it sounds like.

"Finn." His voice starts almost without his permission, pulling him from any and all thoughts he was having of Blaine. "He… I mean, you don't see it. Mercedes doesn't either, not really. It doesn't sound like a lot… But. It is." Kurt sounds desperate. He _feels_ desperate. After all, he wants someone to understand. Anyone. Even Blaine.

Blaine groans again and Kurt winds his arms around himself, turning his face away.

"Don't judge me, Blaine. Please. Don't judge me."


	5. Five

**Author's Note: **The chapters just seem to keep getting longer…

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><p>"Blaine!" Kurt nearly careens into a nurse as he runs into the room, and is quickly scolded for 'running in a hospital and, really, young man.' He apologizes but pays the nurse no mind as he makes his way to Blaine's bedside, the disgruntled nurse making her way down the hallway.<p>

"I did it! Well, my dad did it. Him and Mrs. Hudson are going on a date this Saturday." Kurt's excitement beams through on his face and he quickly folds into his chair, which, strangely, hadn't been moved from his previous visit.

"I swear, I've been bugging my dad every night at dinner about her, and I went by to see him just before coming here—he works in a garage, fixes cars, you know, and I bring him dinner when he plans on working late—and he told me he _did_it." A laugh erupts out of Kurt's throat and he lets it for once, filling the room with a noise that must be rather foreign to it. He would have found laughter in silence eerie in the past, but now it's welcome. Warmth where Blaine deserves warmth and Kurt wonders if he can hear it, feel it, the happiness radiating off of him.

"My plan is officially underway." Kurt claps his hands at that, the sound slicing through the room. He realizes then that the hospital is quieter than he's used to. He knows he's there later than usual; with Glee club, an extra long Cheerios practice, and then stopping by to visit his dad, he's surprised he managed to get to the hospital at all.

The nurse at the station had clicked her tongue when he'd signed in, reminding him when visiting hours ended, and he'd simply nodded and rushed off.

"I'm sorry I'm here late, by the way. Coach Sylvester is still whipping Mercedes and me into shape—I would say not literally, but, sometimes, it feels like she is. And I just could not come here in my Cheerios uniform _again_—"

"Kurt." Turning at the sound of his name, Kurt instantly puts on his best smile as Mrs. Hudson walks into the room. She's holding a clipboard and instantly goes to check on some of the machinery, and Kurt takes in a few of the minor details; her hair has a bit of bounce to it and her scrubs (_and why do they have to do such horrible things for the body, really_) still look freshly laundered. He deduces, quite skillfully, that's he catching her right at the first leg of her shift and has to stop himself from grinning maniacally in victory. What had moments ago been an inconvenience was suddenly an amazing gift.

"Mrs. Hudson," he greets back cordially, inclining his head slightly.

She laughs softly, shaking her head and flipping through a few of the pages on her clipboard to make notes.

"Really, you can call me Carole. Mrs. Hudson seems so… Formal." She looks over at him and smiles and Kurt can feel himself relax a little. True, in the grand scheme of things Carole Hudson is simply a pawn, but that doesn't mean she isn't likeable by any means.

"Carole, then. How are you doing this evening?" Kurt crosses his legs primly and hopes Blaine doesn't mind the small disruption to their conversation. _Of course he doesn't_, he thinks, _he's in a__**coma**__. Stop being silly._

"I'm… Good, thank you."

Kurt is watching her just closely enough that he sees the small smile that tugs at her lips and the faint blush on her cheeks. _Good_. She's looking forward to the date with his dad if that's any indication. Which it _is_.

"Here again, I see. And you were here yesterday." She's nothing but curious as she turns to look at Kurt, suddenly across from him with only Blaine and his bed separating them. "A little later today, though," she points out, leaning down over Blaine and checking him over.

"Well, yes. I'm usually here earlier in the afternoon, but I had Glee and Cheerios practice and I decided to bring my dad dinner afterwards." Kurt keeps his face as nonchalant as possible, as if he's a _perfect_ son all the time and today is no different.

Carole looks up at him, slight surprise melting into a smile.

"You bring your dad dinner? That's so thoughtful of you."

_Thoughtful_. That's what Kurt is. He brings his single father dinner when he works late nights and then keeps coma patients company. _She'll think I'm a saint_.

"Well, I've been taking care of him for quite some time now. Have to make sure he's eating right and all that," Kurt says flippantly, like it's nothing. Maybe because it _is_ nothing. It's been just him and his dad for so many years now that it's their _normal_ and he doesn't even think twice about it. Carole or no Carole, ridiculously genius plan or none at all, he still would have brought his dad dinner tonight. Because he _is_ a good son. He doesn't have to act it.

Carole smiles at him very simply, the scratch of her pen the only noise in the room (aside from the constant whir of the machines presumably keeping Blaine alive, that is).

"He told me, you know."

She glances up at him curiously, tucking the pen into the pocket of her scrubs.

"About your date." Kurt grins a bit knowingly at her and she's suddenly fiddling with her clipboard like an embarrassed schoolgirl.

"Oh, well, yes, I—Yes."

Kurt can't recall ever seeing a grown woman get so flustered, but he must admit it's rather endearing.

"If you want, I can swing by here on Saturday and give you some helpful tips on what to wear. I have quite an eye for hair and make-up, as well, if you're interested." After all, if his dad is going to _date_, he might as well date someone up to Kurt's standards. Carole is lovely, she just doesn't seem to know how to emphasize that much.

Carole is looking at him in surprise, and for a moment she seems reluctant.

"I'm not trying to overstep, Mrs. Hu—Carole. Really. I just want to help." _And I really love projects_. How soon is too soon to propose a makeover? Kurt supposes he should wait until after the second or third date to invite her shopping.

"Well, I suppose it couldn't _hurt_. God knows Finn doesn't know the difference between me going on a date and me going to the supermarket." She laughs and Kurt grins, even if it isn't the best thing to hear. Sure, Finn is oblivious in a way that's almost alarming and his choice in clothing almost causes Kurt emotional trauma. But they're all things that can be addressed and changed. Kurt is sure of it (sort of).

"I'll be sure to make time in my Saturday schedule then. I'll be visiting Blaine again, so it won't be any trouble for me."

Carole looks at him, really looks at him, and it almost makes Kurt feel uncomfortable. Like maybe she'll suddenly see right through him and his plan and _oh god is he using Blaine?_ But the look softens.

"I'm glad Blaine has you, Kurt." The sentiment comes from nowhere and blindsides him. He sits a little straighter, looking at her with a sudden rapt attention. "He hasn't gotten many visitors, and. It helps, in my personal and professional opinion, to have someone even if you're not fully aware of it." She smiles at him again and Kurt has to look down at his hands. He isn't sure if it's guilt he's feeling, but he's suddenly overcome with emotion. His throat feels thick and he swallows to fill the silence.

"Do you want to help me turn him?"

Kurt's attention snaps back to Carole quickly, his eyes wide.

"Do I—What?" He asks, blinking as if he doesn't understand what she just asked.

"I technically shouldn't ask, but… You seem like a gentle person, Kurt, and you obviously care about Blaine." That tugs at Kurt again in the uncomfortable, almost-guilty way.

He looks at Blaine, really looks at him for the first time since he came in that evening, eyes searching. His bruises are almost gone now, something Kurt hadn't noticed until right at this moment. He'd been talking to Blaine and telling him so much, but he never really looked at him and never really wondered. Blaine is a person, after all, just like Kurt is, and Kurt feels this strange desire to _know_ him all of a sudden.

"Besides," Carole continues, drawing Kurt's attention back to her. She's wearing a small, knowing smile that makes Kurt want to blush for some reason—he doesn't, though. "It's a lot easier to turn him with two people. Safer for him, too. What do you say?"

_No_. "Okay."

He stands up, suddenly feeling awkward in ways that he really hasn't lately. Carole beckons him over to her side of the bed and he steps carefully, leaving his bag in its normal place beside his chair. He stands unsurely for a few moments when Carole reaches over and gently pats his hand.

"We're just going to turn him from his back to his side, okay? So he's facing towards where you were sitting." He nods dumbly and she shuffles around him so that he's up near Blaine's head and shoulders. "Now, don't ever do this on your own, alright?"

Kurt vaguely wonders how much trouble Carole could get in for even letting him help her do it.

"Turn his head first."

Kurt's hands hesitate for a few moments. The only part of Blaine he's ever touched is his _hand_ because every other part of him had felt strangely taboo. He moves slowly, glancing every few moments at Carole for any signs of frustration or annoyance. But she is nothing but encouraging smiles and patience which settles Kurt's newfound nerves.

Blaine's skin is strangely warm. Kurt isn't sure why it's such a weird sensation to his fingertips. One hand reaches behind Blaine's neck, cradling his head carefully. There are signs of hair there, soft against the lengths of his fingers, and Kurt's hand twitches at his desire to twist into it. His other hand, at Carole's instruction, gently takes hold of Blaine's chin and jaw. He's as scratchy as his faint scruff denotes and Kurt can't stop the way his thumb goes against it for a moment.

Suddenly aware of the fact that Carole is in fact _watching him right now_, he turns Blaine's head very carefully. He can feel air brushing against his fingers and it's so _different_. Different than seeing Blaine's chest move or hearing him groan. It's a reminder that Blaine is alive, a reminder that tickles his fingers and sends a weird trill up from the base of his spine.

Blaine's head rests into the pillow easily enough, and when he looks back at Carole, she's smiling.

"Good job." Her voice is gentle and he can't help but smile back, looking at Blaine and realizing he's still very much touching him. Kurt retracts his hands, fiddling with the edge of the hospital bedding, "Now for his body."

Right. Because turning his head seemed to take an _hour_, now they have to turn his _body_, too. Blaine is covered in bandages and Kurt wonders, suddenly, how he's supposed to do this without somehow hurting Blaine. But Carole is there, grabbing his wrists and guiding his hands into the correct placement.

Even through Blaine's shirt, Kurt can feel _heat_ again and then more than that. He can feel bones and _muscles, wow, back muscles are__**fantastic**_ and he finds himself feeling warmer all of a sudden. Carole guides him through the movement but Kurt can't seem to focus on more than the shift of Blaine's spine beneath his palm or the slight give of his skin when Kurt's fingers press against it.

It's over, but he's still standing there, one hand pressed lightly against the base of Blaine's neck and the other curved slightly over the dip of his waist. Carole is still watching, but suddenly Kurt isn't breathing as easy as he was five minutes ago and he really needs to concentrate on that.

"Thank you. You did wonderfully."

Kurt just nods dumbly, still remembering _in_ and _out_ and the way he seems to be able to feel his heartbeat in his fingertips.

Carole says something he doesn't quite hear, mentioning how visiting hours are ending soon, and then she leaves with a small smile and closes the door behind her. The click seems to snap Kurt back to himself and his hands return quickly to his person, arms tangling together as he stares down at the expanse of Blaine's back and shoulders. The ones he was just touching. His eyes drift over towards his neck again and then along the line of his torso and waist. Even with the blankets covering half of him, there's definition now, and Kurt's eyes are drawn to the curve of his—

Kurt's blushing instantly, looking away and covering half of his face with his hand and _what has gotten into him?_ He almost mumbles an apology before he realizes that Blaine has no idea he was being _objectified_. He breathes, once, twice, three times, and collects himself before heading back to his chair and sitting down.

This is new. Like the breath against his finger, this is another different. Blaine's face is closer to him now, almost like he's staring at him. Except Blaine's eyes are closed and that kind of negates the idea of staring. Still, Kurt can't stop _himself_ from looking. Because it's hard not to notice, with Blaine's face inches away and free of bruises, how attractive he is.

There's something weird going on with Kurt's heart right at that moment, something he isn't exactly familiar with. It's painful but it's not at the same time, and Kurt's hand flies to his chest as if it will somehow help with the sensation. It doesn't. Kurt doesn't know if he's ever been _this_ silent during one of his visits with Blaine, but he knows he can't talk. He couldn't even if he had something to say.

His eyes are drinking in Blaine's face like he's never seen it before: the slope and width of his nose, the length of his eyelashes (_holy—his eyelashes!)_, the curve and fullness of his lips. Kurt's tongue wets his own lips because his erratic breathing seems to be drying them out.

It's almost as if his hand is moving of it's own accord when his finger is tracing the roundness of Blaine's cheek and then skitters to go down the length of his nose before outlining the shape of his lips.

"You know." Kurt's voice sounds deeper even to him and he resists the urge to clear his throat and return it to normal. "I always thought it was kind of… Demeaning to call a man beautiful, but…" He licks his own lips again, his fingers curving to cup Blaine's cheek. "But I think I'm starting to understand why people do it."


	6. Six

**Author's Note:** I was ridiculously overwhelmed with the response to the last chapter, and I just want to thank you all so, so much. Anyways, I'm a few days late! I know! But here you all are.

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><p>It's the first time that Kurt has visited Blaine on a weekend. Saturdays hadn't originally been a part of the plan, but Kurt could hardly turn down the opportunity to assist Carole before the big date night. Even <em>he<em> was feeling anxious for it.

The nurse sitting at the station recognizes him and smiles, calls him a nice boy and asks how he's doing. It's strange for Kurt, who had never imagined in-hospital relations that expanded past the scope of Blaine and Carole. But he just smiles, answers politely, and adjusts his bag before heading on his way.

One thing about weekends is that the visiting hours are longer than when he normally comes in. Longer and also much busier. There are people bustling around him, talking in excited, raised voices and quiet, rushed whispers. It's new for Kurt, who is used to the steady sound of machines and the brisk walk of doctors and nurses. It's like stepping from a ghost town to a circus (and he reminds himself to never refer to a hospital as either ever again).

Blaine's room is as empty as ever when Kurt arrives, and Kurt is almost thankful for the silence.

"Hello," he says cheerily, walking over to Blaine's bed but not sitting just yet. He rests his bag on the mattress and begins shuffling through it, his eyes shifting to Blaine every so often. "I have homework to do, but it's actually easier for me to concentrate here than at home. Also." Kurt pauses for a moment, fingers twitching in his bag before he looks up at Blaine and takes a breath.

"I brought you something."

Reaching carefully into his bag, he extracts a fully bloomed yellow rose, cupping it gently in his hand.

"I tried to bring you flowers a few days ago, but there's this weird policy against making hospital patients happy or something," Kurt mutters bitterly. "Actually, it had something to do with allergens. I guess that would be a horrible way to find out you're allergic to pollen, huh?"

Kurt sets the flower carefully down on the bed.

"It's not _real_. I, um. Made it, actually. Out of coffee filters. It's amazing the things you can learn how to do on the internet at one in the morning." _Thank god for Martha Stewart_. Kurt reaches for Blaine's hand, gently cupping his wrist and lifting so that he could run Blaine's immobile fingers along the petals.

"So, unless you're allergic to coffee filters, they can't really get mad at me."

Kurt produces a small vase—plastic, unfortunately, but he wasn't taking any chances. He wouldn't tell Blaine that he had spent his entire Friday thinking of loopholes in that whole 'no flower' policy. He'd wanted to bring Blaine something for his room, something that made it more than a bland hospital room. It hadn't even occurred to him to go out and buy fake, fabric flowers to replace the real ones. He'd wanted it to be something from him, something special.

He sets down the vase on the bed's side table, still frowning that he couldn't get something fabulous and made of glass or crystal. But if this vase falls over, it won't break or spill water. Another perk of fake flowers.

"It's yellow." He turns Blaine's hand on the bed and opens it, setting the bloom of the flower in his palm before sitting down. "I thought it would brighten up the room." He doesn't tell Blaine that he looked up various rose colors and their meanings before he chose what color to paint it. "It's not like a scary yellow, though. It's soft, and buttery. Honestly, if you never touched it or smelled it, you wouldn't know it wasn't a real rose."

All in all, Kurt is rather proud of himself at what he'd created. He gingerly plucked the rose from Blaine's hand and set it in its vase. He's critical of his own work, of course, and frowns at it for a few moments.

"It's not perfect, but I'll get better. Soon, maybe, this room won't be so gloomy anymore." He perks slightly, looking away form the rose and back to Blaine.

"I really should get started on my homework, _but_ speaking of gloomy rooms." Kurt scoots to the edge of his chair as he prepares to engage in conversation, crossing his legs and leaning over his knees.

"Have I mentioned that I live in a basement? I know, it sounds rather depressing, but it's not. Not really. It's white right now, but it's beginning to become rather tiresome and so _very_ out of date. I mean, of course, white is classic, but sometimes you just need a change." Kurt stares at Blaine for a few moments as he reshuffles his thoughts, smiling. After all, Blaine is an attentive listener when he has no other choice.

He wonders if it would be like talking to Mercedes, who starts the conversation quite invested but somewhere along the way gets this far off look in her eyes. Or maybe like when Kurt talks to his father, who sets his mouth and furrows his eyebrows while trying to keep up and understand but mostly just nodding.

"I bet you have quite the eye for interior design. I'll forgive your current choices, for now, but really, Blaine, I expected better from you," he chides gently, still smiling. There's a twitch in Blaine's shoulders but Kurt ignores it. Carole has taught him enough to know that coming out of a coma is hardly the romanticized process movies portray.

"I think I'd like to make it warmer, less stark. I'm sure you can relate. If they'd let me change the curtains, it would really make this whole place much more habitable." As if the color of curtains would affect Blaine in any capacity. "But I was leaning towards brown. Not a muddy one, although I can't knock the color completely, but maybe something with gold or red undertones? Just to make my room homier." He chews his lip for a moment, head tilted slightly as he looks at Blaine.

"Maybe I should make myself some flowers." Kurt smiles softly, leaning back in his chair. "Or maybe you could return the favor when you wake up."

A sound that normally doesn't fill Blaine's hospital room hits his ears—a click of heels. Confused, he turns to look over his shoulder, ready to meet a nurse coming to check on Blaine.

But the woman standing right inside the doorway is most certainly not a nurse.

The way she's dressed, although on the casual side, screams nothing but _designer_ to Kurt's well-trained eyes. It's a simple statement, an a-line skirt and blouse with a cardigan that he has the urge to reach out and touch. It reminds him vaguely or a classier Miss Pillsbury, one who knows how to match colors, prints, and pieces without becoming an insult to fashion sense.

She's short despite her blue Jimmy Choo's, her hair dark, thick, and long. She has an exotic look to her, but Kurt can't quite place why, and too late, he realizes he's been staring.

"Who are you?" Her voice is deeper than he expected, but it's strong and intimidating. He blinks at her for a few moments, eyes distracted by the way her perfectly manicured hands clutch at the bag strap over her shoulder.

The bag is interesting. It isn't the sort of thing Kurt would expect a woman such as this to carry. It's been well used, or so Kurt guesses by the condition it's in. It's a lovely black canvas bag with leather accents, and Kurt would be lying if he said it wasn't something he would love to own.

"I'm Kurt. Kurt Hummel, I'm a hospital volunteer," he explains swiftly. His observations couldn't have taken more than a few seconds, but it feels like hours of silence have passed between them. Her eyes are appraising him, and with a start, Kurt realizes she's moved closer. He would have thought someone like her would have dark eyes, but they are a striking honey color that would be warm if they didn't look so… Scared. And sad.

"I've been… Visiting Blaine. For the past two weeks," he explains after another stilted silence. Her eyes are still flicking over him nervously, and then to Blaine, and suddenly the whole situation registers in Kurt's head. This woman is here to visit Blaine.

"Two weeks," she says in a rush of air, like the amount of time causes her actual pain. Again, Kurt realizes that it probably is. Whoever Blaine is to her—son, brother, nephew, grandson—he has been in a coma for at least two weeks now. But at the same time that a strange grief wraps up his throat, there's a flicker of anger deep in his stomach. _Where has she been the whole time?_

"I… Appreciate you attempting to keep my son company." So this is Blaine's mother. Kurt looks at the bag again and it occurs to him that it's probably _Blaine's_. He stares at it, as if it has the potential to unlock all the secrets that Blaine can't tell Kurt himself. "But that's all it is. An attempt."

Kurt's attention snaps back to the conversation.

"He's in a coma," she chokes out, and Kurt can see her straining to keep herself under control. "It doesn't matter what you _say_ or _do_. He's—he's not waking up." Kurt can hear the complete and utter devastation in her voice, her complete lack of faith that she will ever see Blaine open his eyes again.

It hits Kurt like a wave, the weight of it feeling like it could crush it. If he hadn't been sitting, he was sure he would have physically stumbled.

"Mrs.—" Kurt stops, drawing back wide-eyed. He has no idea what Blaine's last name is.

"Please don't visit my son anymore," she says quietly, looking at him as if Kurt's the reason Blaine is here. She looks at him as if she personally blames Kurt for whatever put him in a coma, for him going into a coma. He grabs his bag hurriedly, the room suddenly too small and the presence of Blaine's mother in the room being _too much, it's too much, I have to get out of here_.

He hurries past her, close enough to hear her whisper a broken, "it's hopeless," before he's at the door. He stops then, watching as she walks to Blaine's bedside. But his eyes don't stay on her for long.

Kurt is looking at Blaine, long and hard, suddenly overcome. He could never see Blaine again. This could be _it_. The pain of the finality hits him strangely, making him feel unbalanced. He stares, memorizing what he can see of Blaine's profile.

"Blaine." His mother is speaking, reaching out and stroking his face in a familiar way. Kurt knows he should leave. But he doesn't. "Sweetheart? It's mama." Her voice breaks. "I brought you a few of your things from home. The… I brought books. I know that's—But I thought maybe I could read them to you. Like when you were little." She's crying now, Kurt can hear it in her voice. Her body nearly collapses on top of Blaine's, and this time Kurt turns away.

"My little boy. My baby boy. Blaine, please, please wake up."

Kurt closes his eyes and mouths "thank you" before he walks quickly away from the room, where a mother is mourning her son far too early.

It's not until he's sitting in his car, trying to put the key in the ignition with shaking hands, that Kurt realizes he's been crying. He wipes hastily at his eyes, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, but wondering if he's crying for the mother who might lose her son or for the loss of a boy who has become his closest friend without Kurt even realizing it.


	7. Seven

"Ten pounds. _Ten pounds_. Does she really expect me to do that?"

Kurt walks beside Mercedes, half paying attention as he touches his hip insecurely. Pear hips? What does that even _mean?_He knows he still has some baby fat, but… He's lost so much already, even just compared to the beginning of the year.

"Is that even physically possible without stopping eating altogether?"

He's too soft looking. That must be it. Maybe Coach Sylvester wants to put _him_in a Cheerios skirt as well. No, no, he can do this, he can lose a few pounds. He eats healthy already, he just needs to… Eat less, maybe. He can't get kicked off the Cheerios. That's all he has now. Cheerios and Glee and…

"Kurt?"

"Huh?" They're at his locker and he looks at Mercedes, who had already looked weighed down at her newly imposed diet but is now looking at him with concern, too.

"You okay? You've been acting out of it all morning. What's up?" Mercedes means well, Kurt knows she does. She's the closest thing he has to a best friend (_now_, he adds subconsciously) but he just forces a smile at her.

"I'm fine, it's just. Long weekend, Monday, that sort of thing." He shrugs it off, or so he hopes, turning to his locker and beginning to exchange the books in his bag. Kurt can still feel Mercedes' eyes on him, unsure. "Actually," he begins again before she can pry further. He doesn't want to talk about Saturday, about the hospital, about Blaine. Not to Mercedes. He has this feeling deep in his gut that she wouldn't understand, and if his best friend doesn't get it… Well, it's better if he keeps it to himself.

"I spent all of yesterday coming up with design ideas for my room. Tell you about them on the way to class?" This time his smile is brighter, more convincing. If there's one thing to pull him out of his funk, it's interior decorating.

And then there's Finn, of course. Hadn't he been the whole reason for this in the first place? Kurt had accomplished the first crucial part in his plan, anyways. His dad and Mrs. Hud—Carole, they were dating now. That was the important part. Not to mention he could still volunteer at the hospital and befriend Carole. He didn't _have_to visit Blaine. There were plenty of people to visit. A whole hospital full of people just waiting to be visited.

It didn't have to be Blaine.

* * *

><p>It takes Kurt twice as long to get to the hospital as usual.<p>

Not because of Glee practice, not because of Cheerios practice, not because he randomly decided to go to the library for some reason. But because he keeps telling himself _not_ _to go_to the hospital today.

It's Monday. He doesn't need to go. He can easily go back to his twice a week routine, just like he'd started with, and things would be fine. Things would be normal again. He'd do his homework at a desk instead of at the bedside of a comatose teenager, he'd have conversations with people who answered back.

But something kept making him turn back around until he was shutting off the ignition in the hospital parking structure.

This was _insane_. He'd only been visiting Blaine daily for a week. It really shouldn't have been this big of a deal to _stop_. That's what his mom had asked him to do, and he wasn't about to go against Blaine's family. _He seems like a family person_. He can't help but remember Blaine's mother's absence though in all the time Kurt has spent there, but, at the same time, the sound of her sobbing still stung his ears as if he was hearing it right at that moment.

Why was he _here?_

He'd never felt so lost after signing in, fidgeting as he stared down the hall he normally took. It wouldn't hurt to peak in on Blaine, would it? After all, what if he woke up yesterday or something? Kurt at least had the right to know that he was alright, didn't he? It didn't hurt to walk past the door and casually glance inside, did it?

_You are a crazy person._

"Kurt!"

Spinning on his heel, Kurt comes face to face with none other than Carole. His face splits into another forced smile and he fights the urge to sigh. _At least with Blaine I never had to fake having a good day_. With Blaine, it didn't matter if his days were bad.

"Carole," he greets just as enthusiastically. "You look lovely today." Surprisingly, it's not a complete lie. Despite the scrubs, she looks a bit more put together, and her hair is actually done nicely. Dating his father is doing good things for her.

She touches her hair, basking in the compliment for a moment. "Well, yes, I—did your dad not tell you?" She looks awkward for a moment, and he keeps smiling even if his teeth are clenched.

"Tell me what?" _Abort abort abort_.

"Well, we… He's taking me out again. Tonight, actually, so." Kurt's shoulders nearly slump in relief, but he's better than that. _Please_.

"That's fantastic, Carole." And Kurt doesn't have to try so hard to smile this time. Carole does sigh with relief, as if Kurt's opinion of her is absolutely pivotal. Then again, maybe it is. _Wow. She must be pretty interested if she's invested in my opinion already_. "Saturday night must have gone well then?" He hedges, and she blushes, fumbling with the hem of her shirt.

"Well, I think so, he… Your dad didn't say anything?"

_This is precious_. Kurt has never seen a woman Carole's age blush so much or act so bashful, and for once it doesn't matter that she's a pawn in the plan. She looks so… Happy. _I did that_.

"Oh, he didn't have to. He came home Saturday night practically with hearts in his eyes. I haven't seen him smile like that in a long time." _And my dad is happy_. Carole smiles softly at him in a maternal way that Kurt is unused to, and it churns deep in his stomach. "Anyways, I—"

"That's right, you're here to see Blaine, aren't you?" Carole looks at him knowingly and Kurt feels the need to blush. _Don't blush, don't blush, don't you dare blush_.

"Actually, I was just stopping by to see you. Actually, I was wondering if you were working this weekend?" He needs to steer the conversation away from Blaine, and he needs to do it _now_.

"This…? No. I'm off on Friday, and—"

"Perfect." Kurt reaches forward and takes her hand, and she looks up at him in surprise. "My dad really likes you, Carole, and I'd love it if we got to know each other better." He gives the back of her hand a nice tap for emphasis and she looks taken aback and flattered. "I have some excellent ideas for your hair, actually—if you wouldn't mind?"

He'll still tell her, he knows, but it's polite to at least pretend he cares about her opinion.

"That… Sounds really nice, actually. Listen, I have to get back to work, but you'll be here tomorrow, right?" Kurt opens his mouth to say _no, not tomorrow, I can't come back_. "We'll discuss it then, okay?" She looks apologetic, glancing over his shoulder hurriedly before nodding a goodbye to him and hurrying away. Kurt would almost think it was rude if he wasn't still floored by the fact that he has to come back tomorrow.

_Just for that. You'll arrange things with Carole and leave. People go to the hospital without visiting people all the time. _Yeah. Injured people. But he was visiting Carole; that was justification enough. But really, they should have exchanged cell phone numbers or something. Wow, and wouldn't texting his dad's girlfriend be weird?

He begins to follow the path Carole had just taken, the path that he took nearly every day last week as he went to visit Blaine. It had never taken this long, and he wonders if he's dawdling on purpose, looking at each door he passes and wondering about the people beyond them. _A hospital full of people_. Kurt wonders how he walked through these halls for a week without feeling the slightest bit depressed.

But he feels it now, like a stone stuck from his throat down to his gut.

Blaine's door is closed. That's the first thing he notices when he gets there. Is someone in there? Has he woken up and now he's closed off to people who aren't family? _I should have asked Carole. I should have just asked her_. His hands grip at the strap of his bag and he stands there, suddenly blank on what he should do.

Kurt looks at the plaque on the wall beside the door. 'Anderson' is scrawled beneath the room number and he wonders how he'd never seen it before. He stares at the door again. _Blaine Anderson_. So that's his full name then.

Reaching into his bag, he slowly takes out another flower—a paper daisy. Not quite as real looking as the rose, but... Still pretty. Kurt feels proud of it. Kurt wonders why he spent the rest of his Saturday perfecting it. He doesn't know why he brought it with him at all.

Resigned, he tucks it into the empty clipboard holder on the outside of the door and walks away. He asks himself, again, why he even came at all.

* * *

><p>It's not until he's home ("earlier than usual," his dad comments, but then asks Kurt for <em>clothes<em> advice and Kurt really should _thank_ Carole for _existing _after that), settling down at his desk and flicking on his computer that an idea strikes him.

He knows Blaine's name now. Sort of. Is Blaine Anderson a common name? Kurt's never met _anyone_named Blaine before. Besides, he knows that this Blaine Anderson is from Ohio and at least close to Lima, right?

His fingers are typing before he can even think through it completely.

**Blaine Anderson** stares at him from the search bar while his finger hovers over the enter key. Kurt wonders for a minute what he'll find. A Facebook page? MySpace even? A YouTube channel? Maybe a newspaper article? _I could find out what happened_. His finger twitches.

_I could find out who you are, Blaine Anderson_.

He closes his eyes.

_I could finally know you_.

He shuts his laptop more forcefully then he should, almost pushing it away as if it contains something evil.

_Who are you, Kurt Hummel? And why do you care who Blaine Anderson is?_


	8. Eight

**Author's Note:** So I hit really bad writer's block and, as a result, ended up making an extra long chapter instead of splitting it somewhere awkwardly! I think I'm gonna try to make my updates longer, unless the break feels really unnatural to me. Um. But not the next one. After that one, though! I thank you all for being patient, I truly do.

* * *

><p>Kurt isn't sure if a week has ever dragged on this long before.<p>

It's Wednesday and already he's hoping for the weekend, and even that doesn't seem like it will be a welcome relief. He feels more irritable than usual, probably because he just feels _hungry_ all the time. But it will be worth it, Kurt keeps telling himself, when weigh-in comes.

True to Carole's request, he'd gone to the hospital the previous afternoon. Arranging their mall date hadn't taken more than ten minutes, and Kurt was more than prepared for anything she could throw at him. The sudden appearance of an essay isn't strange for a high school student, after all, and Carole certainly respects Kurt's responsibility to his school work.

But then, how sad is that? That he has to make _excuses_ to Carole about why he's not visiting Blaine?

Avoiding someone in a _coma_ should not be this difficult.

He spends his entire day feeling like he's carrying something extremely heavy on his back and, if he hadn't perfected his posture, he's sure it would result in a visible hunch. His attention drifts in his classes and he wanders aimlessly in the hallways by himself, everything rushing past him while he seems to be going in slow motion.

Some part of Kurt registers that if he wasn't clad in his Cheerios uniform, he'd be such an easy target.

In fact, it's a surprise that he doesn't shriek when Finn suddenly appears in front of him and they almost collide.

"Are you ignoring me or something?" Finn looks at him skeptically, as if he can't imagine Kurt ever doing such a thing.

"Am I what?" Even Kurt's voice is heavier, tired, and he forgets that he's supposed to be _excited_ because _Finn_ is _talking to him_.

"Dude, I've been calling your name for like two minutes." Finn glances around surreptitiously, his voice dropping. "People were starting to _stare_." Kurt fights hard not to wince.

"Just a lot on my mind, Finn Hudson." Kurt adjusts his bag, his voice airy and nonchalant. "Can I help you with something?"

Finn's attention turns back to him and away from scanning the hallways for… Well, slushies, is what Kurt would guess. His uniform doesn't protect Finn and _isn't that something?_

"What? Oh, right." Finn stands a little taller, as if remembering whatever steam had driven him to talking to Kurt in the first place. "Are our parents _dating?_"

For a few moments, Kurt just blinks at him, maybe because if his dad had all of a sudden started going out after work he would have been suspicious. He wonders, vaguely, what suddenly made Finn perceptive.

"Yes." His answer is short, and Finn just stands there looking at him, waiting for more. When Kurt doesn't elaborate, he pushes.

"For, like, how long?"

Kurt's face scrunches in thought, as if he has to try desperately to remember. "They've only gone on two dates? They met at Parent Teacher night last week. Instant chemistry," Kurt assures him. "I would know. I was there. I always attend them with my father to act as translator."

Finn gapes at him.

"In fact, I met your mother at the hospital where she works. I… I volunteer there." He harshly swallows down the _used to_ that sits, unused, on the back of his tongue. When Finn continues to stare at him blankly, he wonders if Carole really never tells him _anything_ or if Finn is just really good at tuning his mother out.

"But she… She came home past _midnight_ the other night. Like. I don't know. A teenage girl. She's been acting all weird and… Giggly and…" Finn's confusion is so blatantly on his face in a way Kurt can't help but find adorable.

"Happy?" Kurt guesses, which only furthers Finn's uncertainty.

"I guess," he mumbles, folding his arms as if the admittance makes him particularly uncomfortable.

"My dad does, too." But Kurt smiles, softly, thinking of his father. "I can only see more dates in their future. And who knows? Maybe more." There's more traffic around them now, and suddenly Kurt remembers that there are places to be and things to do.

"If you'll excuse me, Coach Sylvester doesn't appreciate tardiness at practice." Kurt smiles one more time at Finn before sweeping past him and making his way towards the auditorium. He finds himself actually praying for a longer practice, for something distracting, so that any compulsion he feels of going to the hospital afterwards is quickly overshadowed by his need to be home.

By the time he's slipping into his stretches, he's already forgotten his entire conversation with Finn.

* * *

><p>There's a competition coming up and it means that Coach Sylvester is being particularly hard on the Cheerios. They already have practice daily, but now she has them scheduled longer and is working them harder. Kurt is sure by the time he pulls into the driveway that his feet are <em>bleeding<em>, but he hasn't had the energy to check yet.

In one respect, he's grateful. It's a distraction that will leave him too exhausted to think of anything else, much less dwell on things. In fact, the rigorous practices would almost be welcome if he was up to par with the rest of the Cheerios. But his sluggish movement hadn't left him and things continued to feel like they were going in slow motion. Coach Sylvester had berated him and threatened him so many times that they'd all started to blur together, and had barked that if he didn't have his act cleaned up soon she'd find "someone else that can pierce eardrums with that screeching you call singing."

Maybe if he turned in early, he'd feel better tomorrow.

It wasn't until he was climbing out of his car and dragging himself towards the house that he even noticed the strange car parked in front of the mailbox. He stared at it for a few moments, eyebrows lifted vaguely in curiosity, before he continued to the door.

"Dad?" He calls as he enters the front door, instantly reaching down to remove his regulation uniform shoes. For a moment, Kurt remembers the boots lined up in his closet wistfully, the smoothness of his favorite jeans, and he hates being on the Cheerios just a little bit.

It's when he hears voices, as in _more than one_, that he perks up and weaves through the house and towards the kitchen. He recognizes his father's deep laugh, eyebrows furrowing in confusion because his father is almost never in the kitchen—

"Carole." She's standing over by the counter, wearing one of the aprons he'd made, and her cheeks are red as if she's just been laughing. His dad is bent low over the counter, shoulders heaving slightly as he quietly chuckles and… _Peels garlic?_

"Oh Kurt." She straightens a bit, as if she hadn't been caught just giggling with his father and smiles at him. His dad turns too, and Kurt can't believe the smile lighting up his father's face.

"Hey buddy. I didn't hear you get home."

He's not even wearing his _baseball cap_.

"I just came in a few minutes ago. I… Didn't know Carole was coming over tonight." His voice is nothing but surprise, although he shoots his father a look as if to say _why didn't you tell me?_ Kurt came straight from practice and if he _looks_ as disgusting as he _feels_… Well, he doesn't even want to think about it.

"Don't be too hard on him, Kurt." She reaches over and squeezes his dad's arm, causing Burt to turn and share a look with her while Kurt watches on. "I just sort of showed up with a bag of food and told him I was making dinner."

_But you've only been on two dates._

"Where's Finn?" He asks, because no matter how dopily adorable Finn might be, Kurt was never under the impression that he could do something like prepare his own dinner without the involvement of a phone and delivery service.

Carole's face falls for a moment, but she picks it back up again, the curl to her lips a little more resigned this time.

"He's at Noah's tonight, and I decided I couldn't let a good meal go uneaten." There are things unsaid there, hanging in the air, but Kurt and his dad don't say anything. He wonders if maybe Carole already talked to his dad, told him everything that happened before Kurt got home.

"Dare I ask what's on the menu?" He sets his schoolbag down in one of the kitchen chairs, fingers moving to flutter together. He's unused to having other people use the kitchen—his dad's knowledge extends to the microwave and, recently, the coffee maker, so he isn't familiar with the idea of sharing the space.

"Lasagna."

Kurt blanches, walking over and wringing his hands a bit nervously as he peers at the counter. Ingredients are laid out there but nothing has been done quite yet.

"And a salad?" Carole shoots a glance at him, unsurely, and Kurt realizes somewhere how big of a step this is. She knows more about what's going on with him than his own father, and yet here she is being nervous about getting his approval.

"I'll make it."

He swears he sees his dad let out a breath of relief, and he stops himself from saying anything about how he's not _that_ bad. Instead he bumps his dad away from the cutting board and inspects Carole's ingredients. "You know, I make an amazing raspberry vinaigrette." He looks at Carole and she just gives him a nod, melting into a smile.

"I look forward to trying it."

* * *

><p>Eventually Burt is kicked from the kitchen, when Kurt decides that he's complained enough about him convincing Carole to substitute ground beef for ground turkey (she had insisted that they not get as extreme as eggplant <em>this time<em>) and regular grain noodles for whole wheat. It's almost awkward at first, both of them standing side by side. It's too early to start the salad, but Kurt can at least work on the dressing while Carole layers the main course. Sometimes he finds himself stopping to watch her, as if the idea that someone else in the universe can cook is suddenly new knowledge.

"I was doing my rounds at the hospital the other day," she begins quietly, her voice a low hum that could easily be obscured by whatever his dad happens to be watching on TV. Kurt feels his shoulder stiffen slightly, but tilts his head silently in her direction to indicate that he's listening. "I found these lovely paper flowers outside of Blaine's door."

This time, Kurt freezes completely and Carole's eyes flick to him briefly before she resumes her work.

"I brought them into his room, put them in the little vase I'd seen in there the other day. I actually had to touch the rose, it looked so real." Her voice is nonchalant, as if she's telling Kurt about things that happen on a daily basis at the hospital. He briefly wonders if paper flowers have been _done_ before at Lima Memorial. "I had to wonder, though, why the maker of the flowers didn't deliver them himself."

Carole does stop now, turning her body and leaning against the counter and just looking at him, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, I wonder." Kurt realizes that he's stopped working and quickly starts chopping his herbs again. Carole continues to wait.

"Kurt." He stops again, turning to look at her with as bright and innocent a smile as he can manage. But her expression is soft and inquisitive. "Why didn't you bring Blaine those flowers?"

His mouth opens wordlessly, on the brink of denying it—but who else would have given them to Blaine? It tugs at Kurt's heart that Carole immediately thought of him. Even after seeing Blaine's mother there, Kurt is still the only one who visits Blaine.

"The door was closed," he says simply, turning back to his work. His hands move quickly, as if the speed of his knife will somehow distance him from this conversation. "I didn't want to intrude on anything." When it's clear that he's not going to say any more, Carole turns back to the lasagna and they fall back into silence.

Only this silence isn't the comfortable silence of two people working together. It's charged now. Kurt's mind is half on the recipe he's supposed to have memorized—_did he almost put four cups of vinegar in there_—and half on Blaine. Mostly on Blaine. It's only been _four_ days, what is _wrong_ with him?

"How is he?" The words tumble out of his mouth in a rush of breath, quiet and suddenly heavy in the air. But Kurt's shoulders and chest feel lighter, as if that one question had been dragging him down since Saturday.

"He's healing up nicely. Almost all of the bruising has faded and they even removed some bandages the other day." Kurt waits. "He's still unresponsive." Even Carole's voice is slightly strained as she says it, and Kurt's hand grips the counter unconsciously. He hasn't woken up yet.

"Has…" Kurt swallows, staring at his prepped ingredients but not moving to do anything with them. "Has anyone else been to visit him?"

When Carole doesn't answer, Kurt turns to look at her and sees her shaking her head with a sad smile on her face.

_I appreciate you attempting to keep my son company. But that's all it is. An attempt._

Blaine's been alone.

"She told me not to come anymore," Kurt says quietly, and Carole turns to meet his gaze with questioning eyes. "On Saturday. I went to visit. I met his mother." His fingers flex against the granite. "She told me not to come anymore." The ache in his words surprises him. He doesn't even understand why it's there.

Carole's stare is heavy on him suddenly and he has to turn away, distracting himself by feeding things into the food processor.

"That was respectful of you, Kurt." Her voice is hushed, and Kurt just gives a jerky nod. It's almost like a seal on the situation. The finality of a closing door. As if Kurt had expected Carole to have some solution to this strange new longing he was feeling. _Blaine listened the way no one else ever did_. Kurt almost laughs at himself.

_He's in a coma. He has to listen_.

"Mrs. Anderson has had a tough time." Carole's voice is delicate, and when Kurt turns to look at her, she's resumed her work. Kurt lets himself watch her fingers. "Blaine was in the ICU for some time before he was moved into that private room. You probably don't know much about coma patients, Kurt, but they normally don't get rooms like Blaine has." Kurt doesn't know _anything_ about coma patients, and his first meeting with Carole will always be proof of that.

"She stayed with him that whole time, but you know… The longer someone is in a coma, the less likely they are to wake up." Kurt's still watching, her nimble fingers layering a sheet noodle over meat and cheese and tomato. "The more days that passed, the less hopeful she looked. When they had Blaine moved, she stopped coming." Carole's voice catches, and Kurt realizes he's looking at the side of a woman he hasn't seen in eight years. Carole is a mother, and maybe when she sees Blaine lying in that hospital all alone she imagines her own son there.

"His dad?"

Carole shakes his head, and Kurt lets out a long breath that seems to hollow him out to his stomach.

"They gave up hope, I suppose. But they still have a little, they must, or else—" She stops herself, but Kurt knows how the sentence ends. He's seen enough daytime television to know what's supposed to happen when a coma patient isn't waking up. "You don't have to give up, Kurt."

He turns away then, staring down at the counter and feeling a prick behind his eyes. Doesn't he, though?

_Are you lonely?_

Blaine's been alone, but maybe, just maybe, Kurt has been alone, too.

"In case you were curious." Carole starts so suddenly, her voice abruptly lighter than it has been, that Kurt starts. "Unless a family files a complaint or request, they can't really ban anyone from a room. A closed door isn't a locked door."

Kurt fights the overwhelming urge to suddenly hug Carole, but he does give her a hesitant smile. A real smile. He feels as if she can tell the difference.

Their silence is easy again, and Kurt feels like he's suddenly lost one hundred pounds. Or shed a ridiculously heavy and ugly coat. He twists his shoulders slightly, as if adjusting to it almost, biting his lip minutely to keep from smiling.

It isn't until they've loaded the lasagna into the oven and Kurt's placed his vinaigrette in the refrigerator to cool that Carole even says something relating to the topic again.

"I can't imagine what she must be going through." It's the tone of voice more than anything that keeps Kurt from asking who. He can tell. Carole twists a dishtowel in her hands as if she was drying them, but really Kurt thinks it's to have something to do with them. "If something like that ever happened to Finn." Her voice catches, and she shakes her head slightly.

"I can understand her being protective. It's a mom thing." Her smile is soft when she glances at Kurt, and it almost feels like she's looking through him. "Suddenly everyone is dangerous. Everyone is the enemy." Carole hums thoughtfully, threading the cloth back over the oven's rung before walking across the kitchen.

"You coming?"

Kurt realizes he's still standing there, the last sentence she said reeling in his head. He shakes his head, forcing a smile.

"I'm just going to start on a bit of homework before I start the salad."

Carole watches him for a moment too long before nodding and silently slipping out to the living room. He hears his dad's voice greet her, but it falls to a soft murmur of conversation soon enough.

He's sitting. He's not exactly sure when he started sitting, but he is, staring after Carole.

_Suddenly everyone is dangerous_.

Mrs. Anderson thought he was dangerous? He glanced down at himself, the word and his image of himself not clicking together. Kurt might have a sharp tongue, but he's never been called or seen as dangerous before. Dangerous people don't get thrown into dumpsters and shoved into lockers and slushied on a weekly basis.

_If something like that happened to Finn_.

Something like _what?_ A _coma?_ Or was it something else entirely? What could have happened that would make even someone like Kurt seem dangerous?

_What happened to you, Blaine Anderson?_


	9. Nine

The next day, things are different.

Kurt isn't sure if it's the consistent thrum of _Blaine Blaine Blaine _in the back of his mind or the fact that he ate lasagna the night before and a bagel that morning. Either way, what had been dragging and heavy the day before is suddenly flitting past him like light.

It takes a lot of willpower not to skip Cheerios that afternoon. But his energy has turned into restlessness and if there's any way to combat that, it's by practicing Coach Sylvester's rigorous routines. Kurt's even sure, when he steps into the auditorium that afternoon, that he's already going to do much better than the day before. He practically bounces over to Mercedes, who looks up from where she's seated on the stage to look at him.

"Someone's feeling better." Kurt stops, smiling down at her before slipping seamlessly into his stretches.

"What are you talking about?" He reigns himself in a little bit, even though he can still feel the energy vibrating right beneath his skin.

"You've been a zombie all week is what I'm talking about." Mercedes has completely stopped her half-hearted stretching attempts, and Kurt briefly registers how tired _she _looks.

"I… Guess Coach Sylvester's criticism yesterday just whipped me into shape," he says simply with a casual shrug. Mercedes doesn't look very convinced, and Kurt isn't insanely surprised; it was a pretty weak argument. "And I'm… Volunteering today, and I always enjoy that."

The fact that he'd kept everything concerning Blaine practically a secret from Mercedes rears in the back of his mind, but he pushes it away. Kurt loves Mercedes; she's his best friend, of course he does. There's just something _about _Blaine that makes it so hard for Kurt to talk about.

"You're still volunteering?"

The shock evident in Mercedes' voice causes Kurt to pause and look at her again.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" There's more bite to his question than he'd intended.

"I just, I don't know. I thought with Cheerios you didn't really need it anymore."

_Cheerios doesn't have Blaine, Mercedes._

"The more things I can put on my eventual college applications, the better. Besides, I _enjoy _it," he stresses, going back to his stretching. His positive, anxious, thrumming energy is quickly becoming aggravated.

"Are you still seeing that boy?"

The way she says it causes Kurt to still again, this time looking at her with a combination of disbelief and coldness.

"His name is Blaine."

Mercedes reaches out as if to take his hand, like she wants him to sit and talk with her, but he draws it away sharply.

"Kurt." There's an edge of worry to her voice now. "You've been acting… Different, since you started this whole volunteer thing. Especially lately. And you know I think it's good for you, but I just—It's weird. It's like spending your afternoons with a dead person."

"Blaine is _not_ dead." His voice is low and cutting, and Mercedes is staring at him now, her mouth beginning to form around words. "Blaine is—" _the only person I can talk to anymore. Blaine is the only person who doesn't make me feel so alone_. "You know what? No. I don't have to justify this to you."

So he walks away, setting himself up for practice away from Mercedes and her "concern."

* * *

><p>Kurt leaves the locker room after a brief rinse in the shower, the fastest change in <em>history<em> (he's sure that if it had been timed, he would get some sort of recognition for it), and what would later be deemed as hardly passable styling of his hair. It's half about getting to the hospital as quickly as he can—the longer practice times had slipped his mind, but the end of visiting hours certainly hadn't and he _really _should have skipped practice—but it's also about dodging Mercedes and her lingering questions. She'd watched him all through practice, looking for openings to talk to him and failing to find any.

It's on his way to the hospital that the nerves come back, the anxious-excited ones that had been driving him all day.

He hardly remembers signing himself in at the nurses station, and the three times he's scolded for practically running down the halls slips quickly to the back of his mind.

The door is closed when he gets there and, for the first time all day, Kurt truly stops.

_A closed door isn't a locked door._

Still, he stands there, looking at the door, just breathing as he slowly calms down. He feels silly, suddenly, over the fact that he's spent almost twenty-four hours being so excited or something so _little_. It's not like his being there is going to change anything, not for Blaine. _But I want to be here._

He touches the door knob and turns it slowly, on the off chance he's barging in on the middle of something—_oh god what if they're bathing him_—but the room is empty, save for Blaine. Kurt closes the door behind himself quietly, walking very slowly towards Blaine's bedside with deep, purposeful breaths.

The air feels heavy in the room in a way it hasn't before. There's a stillness to the room that should be expected, but isn't, and a quiet that seems wrong. For a brief moment, Kurt can't even here the blip of Blaine's heart but it's there, in the background, a sound he has learned to push away rather than focus on. But even that reassurance doesn't erase the strange unease he's feeling. Kurt doesn't know why it's there; it's not like Mrs. Anderson is going to pop out of a closet and yell at him for being there or anything, although he glances at the only other door in the room—the bathroom—and then promptly shakes his head. That's ridiculous.

It looks different. The room is the same, but it's more… Lived in. There are books piled next to his vase of flowers, a plush looking blanket over the chair he usually sits in that is also now occupied by a stuffed bear. The bag he'd seen Blaine's mother with the last time he'd been there is sitting on another table, empty, but that's the extent of the changes. They're all so generic that Kurt isn't sure he could gleam anything about Blaine from them.

And that's when his attention goes back to Blaine. Blaine, who, rather than a mass of bandages, has a head full of dark, messy curls. Kurt smiles, unable to help himself, and finishes the last few steps to Blaine's bedside.

He finds himself at a loss for words, standing there and fiddling anxiously with his fingers. He turns instead to move the bear from his seat, which he then pulls back to its usual spot. Kurt pauses for just a moment before tugging the chair a few inches closer to Blaine's bedside and then folding himself into it.

"I hadn't imagined you with curly hair."

Kurt nearly slaps a hand over his mouth. _Great, that's a great first thing to say_. He wonders if Blaine would smile or laugh or just roll his eyes, the way a lot of people tend to do.

"I mean. Hi. It's been awhile, hasn't it?" His arms are close enough to the bedside that he can fold them loosely over the bars that keep Blaine from… Rolling to his death? Kurt can only assume that's what they're for. "I… Well, it's not important why I wasn't here. But I'm back now." He rests his chin in his arms, watching the subtle movements of Blaine's breathing.

"I like it, though. Your hair, I mean." Kurt bites his lip, wondering when he got so ineloquent. "It's a little long, I think. Nothing a haircut won't fix." Kurt wonders if that's something they do at the hospital. "Haircut and a shave, and then you'll look all polished up."

He resists the urge to reach out and twirl one of Blaine's curls around his fingers. They looked like they'd be good for that.

Kurt is staring again, he knows he is. His fingers drum against the bed bar with the inkling to reach out and touch, but he keeps it in and doesn't let himself. There is something about Blaine that just _feels _different. It's almost as if the bandages had kept parts of Blaine locked away somehow.

Blaine feels more alive than he did before. His tumbling hair makes him look younger, so much younger, and… More like a person. All those times before, Blaine had basically been a stranger, but now it's like he isn't. It's like Kurt is sitting at the bedside of a friend he's always had and only just realized is there.

"I missed you." His voice comes out thick and his face heats with embarrassment. Not that it matters. Not that Blaine can see. "Is that weird?" _Yes_. It feels weird.

"I came here on Monday. I didn't even… I couldn't come and see you. After everything with your mom, I felt like I shouldn't be here. Like… Maybe if she didn't want me here, you didn't want me here, either." Kurt's fingers tighten around the bar and he casts his eyes downwards, inspecting the creases in the hospital sheet where it disappears beneath Blaine's shoulder.

"I don't know you Blaine, but. But you don't really know me, either, do you? Some people think you can hear me, but. I mean, your own mom said me being here was pointless. But it doesn't _feel _pointless to me." He glances upwards, almost hoping that Blaine's eyes will open and he'll look at Kurt. He wonders what color they would be.

"Carole, she told me that no one comes to visit you. She told me… About your mom, about what she did. How she sat with you and waited, and now she doesn't anymore." Kurt thinks of why Mrs. Anderson still comes if her son is practically dead to her, and he can't help but want there to still be hope for her. _You don't have to give up_.

"No one deserves that, I think. Being alone. No one." He sits up a little taller and without thinking about it, without giving himself a chance to second guess it, Kurt reaches forward and takes one of Blaine's hands between his own. _There_. Because Blaine's hand is warm and solid and a sign that Blaine is as alive as Kurt is.

"Can I tell you something?" Kurt's voice becomes hushed, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of Blaine's wrist. "It's selfish of me, but, if you're going to know me, maybe you should know that I can be selfish sometimes. As if my so-called master plan isn't evidence enough of that."

He focuses on the back and forth motion of his thumb, dragging his fingers back over the ridges of Blaine's knuckles.

"I'm alone, too. I mean, I have friends, and I have my dad, but. I'm alone." His breath leaves him slowly, as if he's just admitted something that had only been a quiet thought late at night. "It's the same kind of loneliness I imagine you feel, I guess. Maybe it's selfish of me to make that comparison—after all, it's not like you can do anything about it. I could easily go out and make myself happy, because happiness is _made_ it doesn't just… It doesn't just _happen_." He's squeezing Blaine's hand, almost able to feel the way the blood beats through his veins.

"Not for me." Kurt's own voice is pitiful to his ears and he slowly relaxes his grip.

"I have these friends and family and I can't even… They don't know. They can't even begin to understand what it's like to be me, to live in this place and be different the way I'm different…" His breath catches and he stops, eyes slamming shut as he forces himself to breathe. He breathes and breathes until the prickling in his eyes stops, and he's not sure how long it takes him.

"I'm not saying you know. You probably don't. You probably go on dates on Friday nights, and walk down the halls and dread school because you hate homework rather than hating the people who sneer and mock you and throw you into dumpsters." Blaine is probably so normal. He's probably a good student, maybe with a girlfriend, and a table full of friends who he can talk to about football and video games and cars and whatever else generic, mid-western boys are into.

"Even so, those people aren't here. And that says something, Blaine, even if you don't know it. Even if no one else knows it, I do."

Blaine doesn't have other visitors. Do his hypothetical friends and girlfriend even know he's in the hospital? Kurt can't imagine why Blaine would be alone if he wasn't _really _alone. If he wasn't alone in the way that Kurt often felt he was. The type of alone that meant being surrounded by people but never letting them close enough, never letting them look too closely.

_If I was the one in a coma, would people come for me?_

Yes. He knows right away that his dad wouldn't leave his bedside no matter what, no matter how much time had passed. And his friends, New Directions, they'd be there. His heart aches suddenly with the reality of how alone Blaine really must be.

"I won't let you be alone. You'll never be alone again."

He lifts Blaine's hand, pliant between both of Kurt's palms, and presses his forehead against the jumble. _Never again_.


End file.
